


Neither Thistle nor Thorn

by Mintly



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A Pair of Very Tight Pants, Accidental Miracle Use, Angels Can Sense Love (Good Omens), Crowley Is Flustered and Butch as Hell, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Wives, Love Confessions, Metaphysical Sensations, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintly/pseuds/Mintly
Summary: Bringing up the love Aziraphale always felt radiating from Crowley could be a bit embarrassing for both of them, and so she never had. Aziraphale knew this love was a gift, silently and easily given, even when circumstance kept them apart.It was quite romantic, actually.In the aftermath of Armageddon, bright and bubbly with champagne, Aziraphale could finally kiss the demon who loved her.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 144
Collections: Promptposal





	Neither Thistle nor Thorn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizabethelizabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabethelizabeth/gifts).



> Created for our prom gift exchange for the ever sweet and lovely Elizabeth, a perfect person and prom date tbh. I'm so excited I got the chance to write this for you, and also I've never written so fast in my _life_. Just goes to show how inspired I was by your request! I really hope you like it!! ❤️

Aziraphale kissed Crowley for the first time, really kissed her—discounting the polite sort through the ages when such affections were in fashion—the day after the Apocalypse, on the pavement outside her shop. Aziraphale had been giddy with the success of a well-executed plan and an excellent four courses at the Ritz. She was practically floating, as if the bubble of their champagne was still tickling at her throat, suffusing her whole body with an effervescent joy. 

Crowley wouldn’t stop looking at her from behind her sunglasses. Aziraphale could tell. She looked right back, and watched as a smile quirked at Crowley’s lips, a helpless honesty to it that was such a rarity for her. What a joy it was to discover new expressions even after so many years of friendship.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said. She didn’t have the words, suddenly, for all the things she wanted. She had so many choices now. Perhaps action would be appropriate. 

She stepped forward to press her lips gently to Crowley’s. Crowley’s lips were very red with the lipstick she favored this season, cool against her own, and unmoving.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said in an anxious octave higher than usual.

“Won’t you come inside? I believe we’ve more to celebrate, you know.” Their lips were a breath apart. 

“I. Wh. We do?”

“Almost certainly,” she confirmed. A bit unusual of Crowley to play coy, though she didn’t mind reassuring her.

Crowley fumbled open the bookstop door, which graciously unlocked for her, and motioned Aziraphale inside with a shaking hand.

Angels could sense love, of course. It was a matter of the job, knowing that sort of thing. Crowley’s love was no exception, though Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned it to her. It’s not like Crowley could help it, and Aziraphale similarly couldn’t help but feel the wash of love around her whenever they were in each other's company.

She had felt a touch of it in Rome, as they shared their first meal, and it had grown, flowering and blooming in complexity and aroma with each glass of wine since. Crowley’s love was like rose petals, the brush of it against her angelic nature like the softest caress. The sweet and floral taste always lingered on her tongue even after Crowley had gone, along with the scent of her cologne on the sofa, the imprint of her lips on her glass. The mark of the demon who loved her.

Aziraphale knew Crowley would hardly like any reminder of the softer emotions she possessed; she protested to even being called _nice_ , after all. Bringing it up could be a bit embarrassing for both of them, and especially unfair as they’ve had to keep their association hidden for so long. Aziraphale knew this love was a gift, silently and easily given, even when circumstance kept them apart. It was quite romantic, actually.

Crowley shut the bookshop door behind her with a click. Tension pulled at the shoulders of her jacket, which likely would have cost thousands of pounds had it not been conjured wholesale from the ether. She turned, only to be pressed back against the door as Aziraphale pinned her. Aziraphale reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers.

“Crowley,” she said, eyes fluttering as a new wave of love settled over them, mingled at the join of their palms. They could touch freely now. Anticipation sparked beneath her breastbone.

“You kissed me.” 

“I did. I’d like to again,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “If you’re amenable.”

“ _Amenable_ , she says!” Crowley laughs. “Fuck yes, I'm amenable. I was amenable in 41 AD. I'm sure as fuck amenable now. Wait, 's not too fast for you, then, right? Just to confirm. Because I don't want you feel you have to, especially after our, erm, disagreements, recently, if you're not ready—”

Aziraphale kissed her, because a rambling Crowley was a bit like a freight train. Nearly impossible to stop and prone to making grating noises when fired up. 

Their lips slotted together and Aziraphale sighed, dreamily, as the taste of roses filled her mouth. Light and lovely, like fine French macarons. 

Crowley’s free hand lifted to the nape of her neck, holding them together. Aziraphale hummed, pleased, and squeezed their joined hands where they were trapped in the press of their bodies.

Somehow Crowley’s lipstick was still immaculate. It could only be the work of a demonic miracle. Aziraphale wondered if she might thwart that particular wile, so Crowley could leave scattered imprints over her lips, her throat, or further. Heated by the thought, Aziraphale licked at the seam of Crowley’s lips and slipped her tongue inside. Crowley made a noise not unlike a teakettle. 

The doorknob was almost certainly digging into Crowley’s side, but she didn’t move. Aziraphale opened her eyes to find Crowley’s shut tightly, a wrinkle in her brow as she focused all her energy into the kiss. Aziraphale adored her so. She pulled back regretfully, panting.

“Crowley, shall we take this upstairs?” 

“Upstairs?” said Crowley, looking extremely dazed, a smidge confused, and a touch alarmed. Her eyes flicked to the ceiling.

“My bedroom,” Aziraphale clarified. She cleared her throat. “To continue.”

“Continue?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Aziraphale giggled. Crowley’s gaze shot to her, and then smiled. Or, rather, tried valiantly not to smile, but lost the battle against the charm of Aziraphale’s laughter.

“Shut it. I’m _affected_.”

“I might affect you further.”

Aziraphale gestured, and the bookshop disappeared, replaced with the small, cluttered space of her bedroom. The bed was mostly clear, save a few books stacked at the foot and the pair of them landing heavily on the quilt. Crowley spluttered in surprise, now framed by Aziraphale above her. A disturbance of dust wheezed free of the covers.

“Oops. Bless this mess.” 

Aziraphale snapped and nearly seventy years of gathered dust disappeared. The last time she had thought to “tidy up” had been in 1953, after seeing a billboard for a Hoover, getting properly fussed about dusters being plenty sufficient, and setting herself to task proving the point. She gave up halfway through to read a lovely book of poetry she’d been pleased to find beneath her dresser.

“Not many visitors, then?” Crowley said, rising to her elbows and looking around. She’d never been up here. Aziraphale rarely used the space, besides.

“Well, there hasn't been occasion.” The two of them couldn't have been together until now, after all.

Aziraphale took the opportunity to capture Crowley’s lips again. Crowley immediately reciprocated, wiggling under her as the air between them grew heated with their mingled breath.

Crowley’s jacket was slipping to expose a spill of freckles across her shoulder, a river of stars. Angel kisses, Aziraphale had once heard them called. She knew then and there that she would make it her mission to peck each one. She began at her task, kissing down Crowley’s neck and shoulder as she fought to free Crowley’s arms.

Once clear, Crowley tossed the designer jacket directly onto the floor. Soon her shirt, boots, and sunglasses joined the pile. Crowley was completely topless then, evidently having chosen not to wear a bra. Her breasts appeared supernaturally perky. 

She made for an immensely tempting vision in just her leather trousers, and Aziraphale told her so.

“Just get on with it,” Crowley muttered, looking pleased. “It’s your turn.”

Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s buttoned shirt and dragged a finger down the placket. The buttons helpfully tugged themselves loose. 

What followed was an avalanche of jiggling flesh already spilling from the confines of their lacy cups. Crowley dove in, snowblind with lust, to bite kisses along the curve of each breast.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure Crowley could breathe in that position, but assumed it didn’t matter, based on the happy smattering of kisses she was being gifted. Crowley’s tongue soothed over the soft bites she’d left, and Aziraphale groaned as Crowley finally licked over her nipple and sucked it into her wet mouth. Aziraphale shivered, somehow both cooled and overheated at the stimulation.

Crowley’s hand was wandering. It skated along her other nipple, down to her waist inside her open shirt, still tucked into her wool skirt and more wrinkled by the moment. Crowley reached the waistband, and her clever fingers drifted along the seam until she found the flare of Aziraphale’s hips. 

"Can I—" Crowley panted. Her hand grasped at the fat of Aziraphale's hip, kneading through the rucked up fabric of her skirt. 

Aziraphale nodded quickly, overwhelmed by the strength of emotion flooding her. Crowley’s touch was reverent, and so gentle, and better than Aziraphale had imagined in all her years of wondering, of hoping, of waiting. Her taste was heady, and Aziraphale wanted to drink of her love, the floral aroma and the aftertaste of their champagne.

Crowley’s fingers moved back to her waistband and tucked inside to pull her gaping shirt free. At the closure of the skirt, Crowley paused.

“More buttons? Haven’t you heard of the humble zipper?” She hissed. She twisted the first one free. And another.

“Buttons were quite the innovation back when humans first made them too, if you remember.” Aziraphale sniffed, wriggling back to tug the fabric down her legs. She carefully folded the wool skirt to ensure it would last quite a few years more. She liked to take care of things. After a moment of thought, she removed her slip and other undergarments as well.

“Ugh, I always stabbed myself with the pins in my chitons back in Greece.” Crowley watched her undress, something unfathomably soft in her serpentine eyes. Hungry, too.

Aziraphale crawled over Crowley’s thin hips, the leather of Crowley’s trousers smooth against her bare thighs. Crowley trailed slow fingertips over the soft rolls at Aziraphale’s waist, her belly streaked with stretchmarks of angelic gold. Took hold of her plush hips to rub a thumb there, press an indentation into her soft skin. The touch tickled, nearly, and Aziraphale writhed against the sensation.

“Excuse me, but you seem to still be in your trousers,” she observed. She unbuttoned them and tugged the fly down, but Crowley’s trousers were impossibly tight, resisting even a modicum of give as she tried to tug them past Crowley’s hips.

Crowley looked a bit sheepish.

“Look, it’s not like I was expected to have to remove them today, was I? Thought I’d catch you looking at my arse again, maybe.”

“Temptress,” Aziraphale said, smiling as she nosed along the knives of Crowley’s collarbone.

Aziraphale sucked a hard kiss at the base of her neck, with just a hint of teeth. Crowley gasped, arching into her. Her hardened nipples brushed against Aziraphale’s chest.

“T-that’s fine. Good. Very good. Amenable, even. Up then,” Crowley said, sounding very affected indeed.

Aziraphale backed away, leaving a wet, reddened mark bloomed under her care. 

They could leave traces of their affection now, on their bodies and on their lives. She and Crowley were no longer destined for tragedy. A thousand stories of star-crossed humans flitted through her mind as she watched her lover squirm to the edge of the bed, fingers tangled in her belt loops. The possibility of a kinder ending was shockingly simple, now that she could accept it. Aziraphale reached for Crowley with open arms.

It took a few minutes, but together they managed to tug Crowley’s trousers off her slight hips and calves little by little. Aziraphale pressed giggling kisses to each exposed inch of thigh, as Crowley cursed the concept of fashion with the sort of colorful language usually reserved for sailors and stubbed toes. When the leather finally fell to the floor with an anticlimactic _whump_ , they cheered.

Crowley clambered back onto the bed, completely naked except for the black strip of nothing that could only be considered knickers in the way that the portions at a postmodernist restaurant might be considered a full course. That is, with some imagination and very thorough appreciation. The fabric was translucent, which seemed a little counterproductive to Aziraphale. Her eyes flicked to the patch of neatly trimmed auburn curls, visible through the sheer fabric. 

Counterproductive, perhaps, but tantalizing. 

A hand appeared at her chest and gently nudged her up the bed. Aziraphale blinked, coming to find Crowley smirking down at her, proud on her knees above her. A vision of flushed skin and short hair falling loose into those bright eyes, golden and ancient as amber.

“Like what you see?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said with certainty.

She hooked a knee around the back of Crowley’s and pulled. With a yelp, Crowley toppled over onto her, barely catching herself on her flailing, weapon-grade elbows.

“Christ, angel, I could’ve had your eye out.”

Aziraphale kissed the crooked bend of her nose, wrapped her arms around her bony torso. “I wanted you closer. Fastest way to the end goal, I think.”

Crowley grumbled, but lowered herself until they were flush, skin to skin, the contact electric up and down the length of their bodies, from chest to tangled ankles. Aziraphale dragged her nails lightly down Crowley’s back, felt the give of her skin, the indents of her touch on her lover, her former enemy, her dearest friend. She felt Crowley’s answering moan reverberate in her own ribs.

Crowley crushed their lips together so suddenly their teeth clicked, but Aziraphale hardly noticed. The ferocity of the kiss pressed her into the sheets, and the heat of her arousal sparked, kindled into a flame by the dart of Crowley’s incredibly talented tongue. Aziraphale would have to compliment her later, she thought, delirious with the joy filling her chest.

A thigh nudged between Aziraphale’s legs as Crowley curled over her, curled her hand behind Aziraphale’s neck, curled her tongue behind Aziraphale’s teeth. Crowley tilted forward, and the pressure against her was such a relief that she bucked, smearing a glistening line of wetness against Crowley’s thigh.

“Eager,” Crowley said, laughing into her lips. 

Aziraphale would have pouted if given a moment of reprieve. But no such mercy was given, as one of Crowley’s arms snaked over her dimpled hip to pet between her legs. 

Crowley’s fingers felt almost cool against the startling heat there. She ducked the tips of two fingers between Aziraphale’s folds, slickening as they travelled teasingly slow along the inside edge, and then up again, dragging over the full length of her with a gentle pressure. Aziraphale’s hands flew to the sheets and clutched them tight in her fists, probably wrinkling them terribly. She’d worry about that later.

Crowley’s other hand had tangled into the loose hair at the base of Aziraphale’s neck, already beginning to dampen with sweat. She massaged there, lightly, perhaps unconsciously. Something about it was so innocent and disarming, even with a demon’s hand at her sex, still drawing her open with two thin fingers.

Sliding her hand from neck to waist, Crowley set back on her knees, leaving a fluttering of light kisses along Aziraphale’s plump collarbones, the round of her breast, the curve of her stomach as she went. A flush stained Aziraphale’s cheeks, and the pulse of her breath quickened as Crowley continued to massage her at this new angle, quicker now, down and up again to tease at her clit, circling it with her fingertip, before slipping away again.

“Oh, _please_ , Crowley,” she said, digging her heels into the mattress and seeking something deeper, fuller, more satisfying where she wanted it most. Crowley’s fingers increased their pressure, and Aziraphale made an appreciative noise, as best as she could manage.

Aziraphale could barely breathe; it was like Crowley was all around her. The enveloping, beautiful aura of Crowley’s love had completely saturated the air. A precious incense, thick and deep and inescapable. The sensation had a physicality to it, now, like the impression of rose petals, delicate and velvet. The petals caressed her lips, her breasts, everywhere they had touched, somehow real and definite and finally, _finally_ fulfilled.

A deep, white hot feeling began to lick through her body, pooling and seeping into her from Crowley’s touch. Aziraphale could hear the shudder of her breath, feel the slip of her own fluid soaking her thighs and Crowley’s hand. Crowley sought only to satisfy her, to give her pleasure.

Aziraphale’s hips stuttered, trapped between the mattress and the clutch of Crowley’s other hand, holding her still. She ground helplessly against the fingers pressing against her, holding her, the thumb teasing at her clit.

“Mm, harder, if you please— _oh!_ You’re marvelous, Crowley. You always know just what I need.”

“I try,” Crowley said. Her voice was thick with roses.

“You succeed, my dear. My _love_. Oh!”

Crowley made a punched out sound, high and vulnerable. She leant down to scatter frantic kisses at every reachable part of Aziraphale—the fullness of her stomach, the shaking rounds of her thighs, the unruly mess of blonde curls between them, dewy with her own wetness. Crowley twisted her hand, her thumb an insistent pressure, even as she slipped further down the bed to nibble and lick at the sensitive, gold-streaked inside of her thigh. 

Aziraphale choked on a series of gasps with each kiss, losing any faculty for verbal communication. She lost all her words—English, Enochian, all the languages in between. No language here but physical touch and the perfect blanket of Crowley’s love. The simplest language there was, really.

Crowley’s lips reached the juncture of Aziraphale’s thigh and her sex, red and dripping. Crowley flicked her thumb against Aziraphale’s clit, and, her mouth barely an inch away, breathed hotly over her. 

All at once Aziraphale was coming. She cried out, and Crowley held her, rubbed her through her orgasm as it took her higher and higher still. Aziraphale was shaking, her thighs trembling under Crowley’s hands and fists clenching in the sheets. She was alight, almost drunk on love and sensation alone. For one wild moment, she wondered if she might actually be glowing. 

Aziraphale whined, overstimulated, and Crowley pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open to catch Crowley, still sprawled between her legs, pinching a rose petal between her fingers.

Rose petals were scattered across the bedroom. They spilled off precarious piles of hardbacks, tumbled over each other in the air stirred by the drafty windows, and settled on the bed, over their bare naked limbs. A few deep red petals landed in Crowley’s hair, now a complete, glorious mess. 

Aziraphale threw her arms around her and kissed her soundly. Petals shook loose and fell over their bodies, each a velvety soft caress. 

Crowley didn’t react immediately, but her brain appeared to kickstart after a moment. She surged against her, kissing her, sliding their tongues together. In a moment, they pulled back, both breathing hard.

“A bit cliché, don’t you think? Roses?” Crowley said, very softly. 

She lifted a petal and slowly drew it over Aziraphale’s chest and down to her unnecessary navel. Aziraphale squirmed, ticklish.

“The symbolism was a bit heavy handed, I always thought,” she agreed. She grabbed for Crowley’s wandering hand, interlaced their palms. 

“But they’ve always been my favorite, because it’s you. Your love has always been roses,” Aziraphale said. “And I love you quite dearly.”

“You love me?” Crowley said, wonder in her voice. Her eyes were wide and golden, lovely like honey and sunshine and the essence of star stuff. 

She paused. “Guh.” 

Color flooded Crowley’s cheeks and down her neck, flushed with embarrassment. Aziraphale tracked its progress and decided she’d soon chase that color with her mouth.

“Of course I do, dear heart. I think I always have, a bit. You left quite the impression, I’m afraid, with your charming humor and the scent of roses trailing after you.”

“You’ve felt it this whole time, angel? My l-love.” Crowley tensed with anxiety. “Since when?”

Aziraphale blinked, baffled. “Since Rome, with the oysters—but, Crowley, surely you knew? That I loved you?”

Crowley scrambled onto her knees, twisting a fist into her hair, knuckles white. Aziraphale rose as well, and waited.

“I hoped, you know, but I wasn’t sure,” Crowley started, slowly, like it pained her. Aziraphale ached to soothe the unhappy pinch from between her eyebrows. “Hard to be, with all the secrecy and the doublespeak and the seeing each other every few decades. At best.”

“We couldn’t be together then. Not with Heaven and Hell at our heels.”

“I know that. But I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be. To be _together_ -together, you know. You never said.”

“I wouldn’t have risked your life. Not even for this,” Aziraphale said into the uneasy silence. Crowley shook her head, but kept unusually quiet.

Aziraphale continued, “I thought of us as a tragic romance, you know. Loving each other, knowingly, despite the circumstances and entirely doomed by the whims of fate. Ineffable, really.”

“A romantic, are you?” Crowley said, with brittle humor.

“Unfortunately so,” Aziraphale said, smiling back. She left a gentle kiss on the inside of Crowley’s wrist. Crowley melted, eyelashes fluttering.

“I apologise for not telling you sooner, my love. But I will tell you every day from now on how much I care for you, if it would heal the damage I’ve done.”

Crowley leant into her, pressing their foreheads together. Their noses bumped.

“It’s alright. Nothing to forgive, and I might combust if you did. Really, I might. Very undemonic, being cared for by a sappy angel.”

“Not terribly angelic either, to be so thoroughly fucked by a demon.”

“Angel!” Crowley choked, startled into pleased laughter. 

Aziraphale kissed that helpless smile, felt the imprint of one sharp canine on her bottom lip.

“Your turn, I think,” Aziraphale patted Crowley’s thigh. “Kindly budge up, against the pillows.”

Crowley complied, brushing rose petals from the bed as she went. Aziraphale followed. She moved a hand lightly down the outline of her ribs, each hill and valley as precious as the next. She traced over the slight indent of Crowley’s waist to the adorable little pad of fat at the base of her stomach. Aziraphale wanted to map her, wanted to know every twist and turn, every path she might take along the landscape of her body, leaving blossoms of satisfaction in her wake.

“Anything you’d like?” Aziraphale’s hand travelled up the length of one thin thigh to wrap around her bony knee, fingers nestled against the warm, delicate skin behind.

“Ngk, urgh. Mouth,” mumbled Crowley, intelligently.

“Here?” Aziraphale said, pecking Crowley’s lips. “Or maybe here?” Another, just under her jaw.

“Perhaps you mean here, or here.” She licked each of Crowley’s nipples. They peaked under her tongue.

“Nuh!”

Aziraphale dove to shower Crowley’s hips with little kisses, to nibble at the steep protrusions of her hip bones. “Am I getting closer?”

Crowley nodded, panting heavily with fingers squeezing tight around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, arriving before the sheer knickers at last. 

“Here, I suspect.” Aziraphale nosed between her legs, ever so lightly. 

Crowley was already quite soaked, the thin fabric completely saturated and wet, gliding over her at the slightest pressure. She smelled divine—metaphorically, of course. Her scent was so distinct from Aziraphale’s own, deeper somehow and, Aziraphale recognized, a little rosy.

Teasingly, Aziraphale licked Crowley through her knickers, though the plush of her lips was already escaping around the stretch of fabric. She tasted better than she smelled, even, a saltiness on her tongue that Aziraphale could never have imagined, as delightful as any of the fine meals Aziraphale had sampled in her time on Earth. Or, well, perhaps not—her favorite sushi spot really was very good—but the sentiment had to count for something. Crowley keened as Aziraphale’s tongue licked over her slit through the slippery lace, again and again, savoring her.

Pushing the knickers aside, Aziraphale exposed the flush of Crowley’s sex, so aroused she was dripping a damp spot onto the sheets. She pressed a finger to Crowley’s entrance, just to feel her.

“Yes, yes, _yesss_ , finger me,” Crowley hissed. “Fuck, you have great hands.”

“Why, thank you,” Aziraphale said, touched. She slipped inside.

Crowley was incredibly hot and slick. And so ready that Aziraphale slipped in a second finger immediately. Crowley’s soft walls clenched around the intrusion. Crowley tossed her head back, the arc of her neck shining with sweat, and moaned loudly. 

“Shit.” She took a deep, shaky breath. Aziraphale watched the heavy rise and fall of her bony chest, the tremble of her small breasts, with great interest. So lovely. Aziraphale grinned ear to ear. Crowley raised her knees to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Crossing her ankles behind Aziraphale’s head, she gently nudged Aziraphale forward. 

It was almost polite, but Aziraphale decided not to call her on it.

Aziraphale went easily, happy to give Crowley exactly what she wanted. Everything she deserved. She striped her tongue above Crowley’s entrance, meeting her own fingers and then higher to flick the tip against Crowley’s clit, ever so lightly, before broadly sweeping over the same path. She slid her fingers in and out, slowly at first and then faster as she landed on a rhythm that had Crowley gasping softly on each stoke.

The wet, obscene noise of their lovemaking filled the cluttered, flower-dusted room and Aziraphale only loved Crowley more, watching her writhe under her ministrations, tighten around her fingers. Crowley had waited so long for Aziraphale to come around, hoping and not knowing whether she would be accepted. Aziraphale would give her anything she needed, and more.

Aziraphale tilted her hand and hooked her soaking fingers inside, seeking a spot to drive Crowley to the edge. When Crowley’s breath hitched, she licked over Crowley’s clit and sucked, hard.

Around Aziraphale’s fingers, Crowley fluttered wildly. She shouted, hips stuttering and rising entirely off the bed as her back arched, her hands scrabbling against the sheets. Aziraphale stilled her hand inside Crowley as she came down from her high, legs trembling over Aziraphale’s shoulders. When she slipped out, Crowley made a soft sound that pulled warmly at Aziraphale’s heart.

Aziraphale was overwhelmed, in the best way, with the joy of loving and being loved. The manifestation of petals in her once lonely bedroom would only be the beginning, if this is what she had to look forward to in their shared future. Together at last, without tragedy, without the stinging thorns she had always imagined would come with it. She wondered if she would ever smell another aroma, taste another flavor without a hint of rose to it. She found she didn’t mind, not really, if it meant she could have this. She could get used to it, the sweet florality added to their days.

Aziraphale crawled up the bed, and Crowley curled up in her arms, all lanky limbs and pointed joints against the soft of Aziraphale’s body. She dragged her hand along the sharp line of Crowley’s jaw and up to comb gentle fingers through the shorn sides of her hair. Crowley nuzzled into her palm.

“I love you,” Crowley said, with infinite softness in her wide, ever earnest eyes.

“I know,” Aziraphale said. 

She pulled Crowley into a soft, open-mouthed kiss, syrupy sweet, and savored the taste of rose blooming on her tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr](https://mintly.tumblr.com/), if you like! Thank you for reading!


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